reaching

tortured sky
collapses
moments frozen
in prose
a fisherman
in the rain
head bowed
the flowing water
a wisp of smoke rises
pipe in hand
gulls swoop and caw
littered docks
the lighthouse
dreamt as
a tower
now
intervenes
casting light
shadows dance
across your tender face
tender thoughts
the dried corsage
held deep
in the fisherman’s pocket
remembers you.

– Previously Published 2002
Marco Ashcroft and Maysa Peterson
in Renga Rounds

dried flowers

between us

Mission Iceland underwater

tetonic plates moving apart

brown eyed girl
reaches for the
unreachable
losses herself
in a moment
in a smile
in a pause
in hope
within the inward
pause
that embraces
childhood dreams
fairy tales your
mother told
days into days
receded
never touching
the strength
of night
of darkness
stood alone
unnoticed
and unshakeable
phantoms whisper
what she cannot hear
his sudden
fixation
out there
face strangely
turned
listening
the shadow approaches
reaches
across the divide
lingers
forms the land

letting go

at the end of language
the world bends, turns
a cool stream through
green hills hearing
sees feelings foreign
bird feathers sway down
they dance in the draft
that circles your room
circles upon circles move
touch speech in the twilight
daydreams trap hopeful pleas
your golden slope of neck
this morning light
how it caresses curves
untold illusions of God
and the awful rowing
proves you unprepared
to his harsh eye
harsh standard of home
in the still isolation
resembles hellish solitude
those glints off darkened water
far gems captured in light
as dewdrops dripping
from fanning forest green

flickerfeather